Scrabble
by A for Anarchy
Summary: This is the 21st fic in my one-word prompt series. AU Petyr/Sansa. Rated T for language. Petyr is playing a game with Sansa. The odds aren't really in his favor.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own _A Song of Ice and Fire_. It belongs to GRRM.

**Author's Note**: This is the 21st fic in my one-word prompt. AU Petyr/Sansa. Once again, I was taken down the primrose path by my cruel friend, StarcrossedScientist. I swear, I will finish that third part of "Cry," but first, a little fic. Be warned, it was supposed to be crack, but I failed in that mission. Again. Let's face it, I can't write crack.

* * *

Petyr Baelish was not accustomed to losing.

It could almost be stated as fact that if there were a hill nearby, he would be king of it. He was an intelligent man with a few degrees under his belt to prove it. There was absolutely no reason why he should be losing a game of Scrabble to an eighteen-year-old girl, but he was.

"Sansa, sweetling, you should respect your elders a bit more than this. I'm 30 points behind, and I'm beginning to suspect you of cheating."

She looked at him coyly from beneath her lashes, "But, Uncle Petyr, you told me you were _good_ at this game. You also said that we could do anything I wanted to do, so we're playing Scrabble."

Her feigned innocence had him itching to do something that would really make her blush. As luck would have it, he finally captured a vowel and some decent consonants. Slowly, he placed his tiles on the board, exaggerating his movements then revealing his carefully crafted word.

"C-U-N-T. 'C' is on a double-letter score, so I believe that nets me a total of nine points. Your move, sweetling."

Instead of looking embarrassed or offended, Sansa looked…intrigued? That was an unexpected reaction.

"Why, Uncle Petyr, are you casting aspersions on my character, or are you enquiring about the one in my possession?" She was practically purring the words out, her earlier coyness converted into devious flirtation.

His body warmed, and his high collar seemed unusually constrictive, "Neither, sweetling, I was simply playing the tiles for the greatest possible advantage."

Sansa smiled brightly, "Oh, in that case, you won't mind if I follow your brilliant example." She did not deliberate over her turn as he had his, but she did lay the last tile down with a flourish. "W-H-O-R-E. That gives me 11 points; shame that it's not longer, I was so close to landing that triple-word score. Maybe next turn."

Gods, she was a tempting she-devil. No girl, no woman, should be allowed to make trouncing him soundly arousing, but Sansa Stark possessed a mysterious power that left him enthralled and rather helpless. His hand trembling slightly, he drew his next tiles. (To make the game more interesting, they had decided to draw just before their respective turns, even adding a time limit.)

The draw was…disappointing. At best, he could make a three-letter word. Damn, this was going to be humiliating. "A-G with the 'T' for three points."

"That is a little underwhelming. After that bold move, 'tag' is kinda tame."

Petyr felt his face heat, "Yes, well, we play the hand we're dealt. Your turn, sweetling."

Sansa snatched her tiles out of the bag, a pleased expression settling over her face as she gazed on her bounty; he felt his stomach clench in response. "My, my, my, Uncle Petyr, I may have just won the game," her words dripped with smug triumph. "M-O-N-G-E-R. Plus 'whore' on the triple-word score gets me 60 points, as well as providing a rather apt description of you, Uncle Petyr."

'Shocked' was too plain a word to describe how he was feeling. 'Bewildered' was slightly better, but 'titillated' was probably the best of all. Sansa was a treasure, a precocious, beguiling, demonic treasure. "And how would you know that, sweetling? I didn't think my business was within the purview of virginal eighteen-year-old girls."

That coy smile was back, wreaking havoc on his senses, "You'd be surprised at what falls under my purview, Uncle Petyr. I did a little research and was surprised to find that you are shamefully under marketed. You should make a Facebook page and have your clients 'Like' it, or a Twitter account. I know, your handle could be Littlefinger'sLittleSecret!"

His arousal was swept away on a tide of horrified realization: Sansa had Googled him! Petyr was sure that he had managed to bury his business beyond the reaches of a casual search, but apparently, any fucking schoolgirl with a shred of curiosity and time could find him! But, Sansa's teasing was far from over, "You know, your establishment boasts an overwhelming amount of redheads. If it's not rare, it's not as desirable. Small wonder you make any money at all. You could have something like a sale, 'Redhead Mondays, 10% off!'"

"Gods, Sansa, you are a disturbing creature! What were you doing looking at my site anyway?!"

Her air of studied innocence returned, "University is going to be expensive, I was looking for ways to pad my budget, but after seeing all those redheads, I might try my luck somewhere else…"

He was across the table and grasping her chin before his brain caught up with the rest of him. Sansa was laughing up at him, looking all too satisfied with herself. Petyr stared down at her, marveling at her ability to make him lose his head at the slightest provocation, "You really are a wretched girl, sweetling, and one day I'm going to give you the spanking you deserve."

Petyr shook her chin gently for good measure before withdrawing; her cheeky, "Promise?" brought him up short. He leaned back in, giving her a short, but thorough, kiss, "Promise. And stop calling me 'uncle;' we are not, in any way, shape, or form, related."

Sansa nipped at his lower lip, "I know that, I just like making you squirm."

"And that's enough out of you. Back to the game, sweetling; I still have to beat you before I go."

She looked at the table, shrieking in anger, "You bastard, you did that on purpose!"

He held up his hand, solemnly intoning, "I swear by the old gods and the new, I did not knock over the game intentionally, but I find its upset very convenient."

Sansa huffed indignantly, "There goes your good-night kiss."

"Hmm, we shall see."

"Just set up the damn board, cheater."

Petyr smirked, the world was back in balance, the hill was his once again.

She muttered, "For a good time, call 1-800-NEEDAHO."

His smirk promptly disappeared, "Cheeky brat."


End file.
